Calm
by Frostings
Summary: A collection of Tomoe's thoughts and reflections as she seeks revenge on Battousai, and how she finds turmoil and peace in her journey.


Calm

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They say that when a person dies, his spirit, his soul, the essence of his being, leaves his earthly vessel and transcends to a higher plane, to begin a new existence, an existence that has been a mystery ever since man first opened his eyes to the heavens above, since man realized that there were moments beyond the stars. 

They also say that sometimes, the soul does not leave the material plane. They say that they have been so affixed with their past life, that they just cannot let go. These souls are then called ghosts, and more often than not, they believe that they are still alive, continuing with the life they should have long left behind. I have always thought this to be the saddest thing, to be living in the past, not being able to let go, not _wanting _to let go, to dwell in regrets, the questions they never stopped asking themselves, questions that should have long been answered, but somehow the answers had been taken from them by their own grief, their own blindness.

And now…

I realize…

That I have been living the life of a ghost.

I still remember, so vividly, the day Kiyosato died. I mourned him in the way so many other women had mourned the passing of their lovers in the past. I said not one word, not one word. My tears were the only testament of my loss. But my tears were not enough. There were countless nights when I would wander the empty plains of my dreams, searching for him, calling for him, and the only cry that would answer back was the sound of my own voice. In this world of the real and the unreal I searched for him, screaming, weeping, my hands reaching out to embrace only the cold air of my despair. I begged, I prayed, I pleaded, so very hopelessly, for him to come back, to come back to me, to smile at me, to laugh with me, to touch me. I begged, I prayed, I pleaded, so very desperately, for any trace of him to come back home to me, a scent, a whisper, a touch. I became angry with him for abandoning me so completely, and despite my clutching fingers, he did not come, and I would fall to the ground, grasping nothing but the thin air of my loneliness.

My existence was a wretched one. Hands that could reach, but could not touch, chained back with bonds I could not easily break. A voice that could speak, but could not be heard. Thoughts that existed, but could not be said. I bent my head, and my eyes fell on the sheathed knife I was holding in my hands. I still had this power. It was at that moment that I realized that there was nothing holding me back anymore. Whatever that held worth for me had died with him, and that I had a choice now.

And my choice was this.

I chose to live in the past, and feed from the anger…and the loneliness. There was always loneliness. I had always thought it would never leave me.

Kiyosato died to protect his family and me. I swore that I would fight for his memory. Honor meant nothing to me then. I would fight it; I swore I would _kill _him—the one who began my misery. 

I had long fantasized on how I would end Battousai's life. He would never expect it from a woman, pretty and unassuming. Sometimes men are like that. I would be trapped in dreams where I would slide the doors open, and step into the room, and Battousai would be sleeping so very peacefully. I will raise my knife, gleaming sharply in the darkened room, and drive the blade deep into his heart. And he will open his beautiful, cruel eyes, eyes the color of violets, and he will look at me in terror. His blood will be all over me, and it will only be then that I will forgive him, forgive him from taking away from me everything that mattered, everything that was worth living for. He may be the Battousai, but he will not hear my step, the sound of his own death, because all he can feel is the fear of men, the heat of their angry bodies. But I feel nothing, for it has been a long time since I felt anything, since Kiyosato's death.

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            How would you know, Battousai, who is wrong, and who is right? Who are you to judge whether one lives or one dies? How can you have the arrogance to do this, to think this, you, as human as any one of us?

"You can think what you want." His violet eyes flashed rebelliously. 

"I don't kill indiscriminately. I'm just doing this to usher in a new era of peace…many people, especially the members of the Bakufu may oppose us…but…

"I would never strike an unarmed civilian." 

A simplistic explanation. He disappointed me, that Battousai. "Then you are telling me that that bad people carry swords and good people do not?" I saw a flicker of confusion pass briefly over his eyes. What makes the difference, then, the deciding factors that you carry in your hands, on those who remain and those who vanish? My eyes dim as I see the cold gleam of a knife.

I took the bento box that he had cleanly eaten from, and I saw, in the briefest of moments, his hands slightly tremble. I look curiously into your eyes, but you betray nothing. A secret entity, through and through. 

I stood up to go.

"When you have an answer, please let me know." 

He was still watching me as I shut the door behind me.

Trapped in life as we are trapped in death.

Cold souls under the guise of warm skin. 

Both pretenders, never understanding. 

In a way, we are the same.

Are we not?

Battousai.

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_Author's notes: I'm experimenting with my writing style here, and as you can see, it is not linear, but still following the original plot. It is still subject to some more edits—hope the reviewers can help me here..as long as they're not flames. But for now, it will just be a collection of Tomoe-sama's thoughts—it's quite abstract, actually. The most abstract thing I've ever written. _

_More chapters ahead._

_            Hope you liked it. ~ Yui._


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